Let the Dead Speak (Maeve Kerrigan #7)

‘I’m surprised you’re cooking, given that Bethany is missing.’

‘There’s nothing strange about celebrating God’s love in a time of hardship. He has her in his hands. What can we do but praise his name in company and fellowship?’

‘What indeed?’ I murmured.

‘Besides, we always give Gareth lunch on a Sunday, and anyone else who needs to eat with us. Gareth says we need to share God’s grace with anyone who needs it.’

How convenient for Gareth.

‘Is DC Shaw upstairs?’

She nodded.

‘We’ll try not to take too long.’ I started up the stairs, followed by Derwent. Glancing down I saw that Eleanor had picked up her bible again and was already immersed in it, her lips moving as she read.

We separated on the landing. Derwent headed into Bethany’s room and I went to find Georgia in the room Chloe had been using.

‘Anything?’

She leaned out of the wardrobe so she could see me. ‘Nothing out of place. I don’t know how much stuff she had but she doesn’t seem to have taken much with her, so they weren’t planning to stay away long.’

‘Or it wasn’t planned at all,’ I said, pulling on gloves to open the drawer in the bedside table. It contained the medication I’d found in Chloe’s house. I went through the boxes methodically, counting. She had taken one box with her – and all the contraceptive pills she’d had. I frowned.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Just wondering …’ I went out and back down the stairs to the kitchen, where Eleanor was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, still reading the bible.

‘Did you take any of Chloe’s things? Her medication?’

She was lost, her eyes half-focused. ‘No.’

‘What about the pill?’

‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that. Did Chloe take it with her?’

‘No. We don’t agree with contraception of any sort. Abstinence is the best contraception there could be.’

‘So you took it?’

‘She couldn’t have it in this house.’ Eleanor placed a bookmark in her bible and shut it. ‘We had to think about Bethany. That wasn’t the example we wanted her to set our daughter.’

‘No wonder she ran away,’ I said, unable to stop myself. ‘You were supposed to be providing her with a safe place to stay. It wasn’t your job to monitor what she did with her own body.’

‘She was under our roof. She had to obey our rules.’

‘You don’t even know why she was on the pill. It could have been for lots of reasons. And even if it was because she was sexually active—’

‘Oliver and I had to do what we thought was right.’ Her face was stubborn.

‘Kerrigan!’ The shout came from upstairs: Derwent. He thundered down the stairs, vaulting the last four or five steps to gain a half-second. As he dragged the front door open he threw over his shoulder, ‘Call for back-up.’

‘What’s going on?’ I was talking to the air; he was running down the street at house-on-fire speed. I looked up the stairs and saw Georgia peering down from the landing, her face pale. ‘What’s happening?’

‘I think DI Derwent saw something out of the window.’

No shit. There was obviously no point in asking what. I followed him out to the middle of the road and shaded my eyes so I could see in the dazzling sunshine. Oliver Norris’s car was parked at an angle across the road, near William Turner’s house, which was not good at all.

Also not good: I could hear Derwent shouting. I put my hand down to get my radio and found nothing. I’d left it in the car.

‘Georgia!’

She appeared in the doorway, looking wary.

‘Have you got your radio?’

A nod.

‘Then call for some back-up, quick as you can. And then come and help.’

‘Help? With what?’

‘Whatever Derwent has got tangled up with.’ I was backing away, impatient to be gone but I couldn’t leave Georgia when she was looking pinched and shocked, when she was still – still – not calling for back-up, when her hands were shaking so much that I could see it a mile away. ‘Come on.’

‘But I don’t have any body armour or gas.’

‘Neither does he,’ I said. I had no faith in her and I couldn’t wait any longer. ‘Just – just do your job.’

Every instinct told me to run as fast as I could and jump straight in to whatever situation lay behind Derwent’s call for help, but my training and experience overrode it. I went low, behind the parked cars on the opposite side of the road from William Turner’s house, until I had a decent vantage point and I could see what Derwent had seen.

Oliver Norris was standing in the front garden, his hands clenched into fists. Two men flanked him, both heavy with muscle, one older, one younger. Norris was talking, trying to hold Derwent’s attention. Derwent stood astride a huddled figure that lay on the ground and the expression on his face was pure death: I dare you to try it. He was in shirtsleeves: no baton, no CS gas, no radio. All he had was his rank and his absolute belief in his ability to control a volatile situation. And his knowledge, of course, that I was right behind him.

On the ground: a man barely recognisable as William Turner, his face a blur of blood, his body curled in on itself in a way that spoke eloquently of pain received and pain that was yet to come.

Norris was leaning in, shouting in Derwent’s face, distracting him from the men who presented the greater threat. Derwent shook his head, looking like a bull tormented by a fly. Even as I watched he yelled, ‘Get back. That is an order.’

There were situations where you could shout your way out of trouble; I didn’t think that this was one of them.

‘This is nothing to do with you.’ The tendons were standing out on Oliver Norris’s neck. On edge. Something to prove. Reckless.

‘It is now,’ Derwent said. He glared around, making eye contact with all of them. ‘Go on. Fuck off, the lot of you.’

‘He knows where my daughter is.’ Norris was shaking.

‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘Is that what he told you?’

‘Yeah, it is.’

‘And you believed him?’

Derwent shrugged. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘We saw you taking his DNA. He’s a suspect.’ The older man’s eyes were cold, unblinking. ‘You’re too soft, you police officers. Too scared of losing your jobs to do them properly.’

Derwent laughed. ‘You’re talking to the wrong officer about that, trust me.’

I was almost starting to believe Derwent might have the situation under control when the younger man spat a gobbet of slime that landed on Turner’s chest. I doubted he’d even felt it but Derwent snapped.

‘Don’t you fucking spit near me.’

‘Watch your mouth,’ Norris said.

Derwent snorted. ‘Like fuck I will.’

Quick as lightning, Norris punched him. Derwent had time to flinch away from it but not enough time to dodge it completely, and Norris’s fist caught him high on his cheek. He lost his balance for a second, staggering back, almost tripping over Turner. I could see the confidence coming back to Oliver Norris and his muscled pals, the balance of power shifting as easily as that. Derwent was only one man, after all, and there were three of them. Three against one didn’t seem fair at all.

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